She finds no home anywhere. She never has, though. That was how she was raised, moving from one place to the next. When she left her mother’s side, she knew no other way of living, and so she kept moving. Syrena had seen so much of the world that way, traveling from one part of the sea to another, crossing lands to find those places where the water touched. It was a beautiful life, really. New places, no familiar faces. Just her and the land and the sea. Always, the sea.

Until, of course, she stumbled into Helovia. There ought to be a sign, some giant warning scrawled in blood just to get everyone to pay attention. WARNING. NO OUTSIDE MAGIC BEYOND THIS POINT. Because if she had known, she never would have come. If she had known, she would have turned tail and found a new part of the sea. Because now, she had nothing. This place had taken her life from her. Her magic was her life. Without it, she is no longer immortal, and no longer herself.

And she cannot get it back. Not all of it, anyway. But if she wants any of it, she’s stuck in this place, toiling away in the miserable hell of this heat, trying to earn back scraps of what she was born to be.

So she stays, the Hidden Falls being the closest thing to home she’s ever going to find. At least there are pools here, places for her to hide away from the faces of others (not, that she runs into all that many others around this place either). And so she toils away for this place, checking the borders now and again beneath this blistering sun. This is why she finds the mare, who’s actually already crossed into the borders of the Falls like she either belongs, or because she didn’t know better. Syrena doesn’t care why. Honestly, for all she knows, this mare belongs here. Though she doesn’t smell like it.

“Who are you, and do you belong here?” she asks, her voice deadpan. It’s not accusing or mean at least, just a blunt question. Syrena’s no good with pleasantries or tact. She can’t be bothered to waste the time, if she can help it. And she doesn’t care that she’s interrupted some weird song or ritual. Honestly, the girl seems mildly nuts, if you ask Syrena. But no one asked her, so she keeps that opinion to herself. Instead, she wades into the river herself, the shallow water’s warm in the heat of Tallsun and therefore turning her legs a swirl of red and orange. And there she waits, looming just large enough to be mildly imposing, for an answer.


les words "chat chat"
Sorry, she's a grouchy lady :/

Syrena

let the water take me